


and we are magic talking to itself

by greekdemigod



Series: Roisa Deadly Sins Week [4]
Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/F, Roisa Deadly Sins Week, plot twist: it's a witchy flower shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekdemigod/pseuds/greekdemigod
Summary: For witches in East Harlem, there is only one place for all the magical ingredients they need. Luckily, Luisa is the best at what she does.[Flower shop au + pride.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been SUCH a blast to write. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

It has been a slow morning. Luisa doesn’t mind. She got to take her time sweeping away the droppings of the night: leaves, petals, clumps of dirt that were undoubtedly used as projectiles in another Flowers vs. Plants war.

If there is one thing she is proud of, it’s this shop, and how she has been running it as well as her mother ever has. The love she has for this place shows in how tidy she keeps it, how good it smells, how vibrant and colorful it is, and how harmonized the flowers and plants usually are.

Now she is sitting on top of the counter, bare legs swinging back and forth, the multi-colored bangles on her ankles rattling together with a sound almost like wind whistling through chimes. There is a potted plant in her lap; she is massaging its stem and listening with sympathy to its soft groans as it hiccups up small, gemlike drops of venom that are going at fifty dollars apiece.

 _Devil’s Curse_ is notoriously hard to tend to, but Luisa... well, she has a knack for figuring out how sentient, magical creatures tick. All she did was give the little guy her old make-up brushes and a few tubes of paint, so he could decorate his flower pot, and he’s been as soft and harmless as a lamb ever since.

“There you go,” she whispers soothingly, keeping up the gentle rubbing for a few minutes after he is done hiccupping. The mouth slowly stitches itself close again, its little leaves start drooping, and just like that he falls asleep in her hands.

She lifts his pot up over her head and slides it back to its place on the top shelf above her cash register. He has bonded to her by now, but even then she likes to keep an eye on him, just to be sure.

There is always something to do, even when she receives no customers. She has too vast an array of exotic, foreign, sentient flora to tend to, and they all come with specific needs.

She is wiping her hands on a towel when her first customers of the day enter. The bell above the door has a special jingle for everyone that has been here more than thirteen times; by then, it has learned who they are and listened to the songs in their heart.

Judging by the sound — two jingles mixed clumsily together — Luisa knows it to be Jane and Lina coming in together.

They have to pass by a tiny Fairy Fruit Tree that likes to greet everyone with her special handshake; by the sound of chatter, Lina has been roped into sharing the latest gossip. _Again_.

True enough, Jane is the only one that comes in further. She walks through the aisle on the left — she always does, damned witches’ superstition — but looks around, as if she doesn’t usually stop by here at least twice a week.

“You’re looking for something you don’t usually need,” Luisa states, head cocked as she assesses the situation further. It’s a game she likes to play: see if she can divine what they need before they say anything. “Since you didn’t bring Petra along, it’s probably something for her.”

Jane’s smile widens fractionally, her blush deepens. She’s honing in on it much faster than she does with others, but Jane is like an open book to her.

“Somethi—oh. _Oh_. …Oh, Jane, really?”

“How do you _do_ that. Divination isn’t even your area of expertise. That my grandmother figured it out with one glance, I can accept that. But not you. You’re not supposed to be able to guess that accurately.”

But Luisa has skipped happily away already, to retrieve a pair of gloves hanging from a hook amid the rest of her tools and utensils. There are sharp and blunt knives, scissors, tongs, spoons, forks, and chopsticks—none of them ever used for eating her dinner, which she usually with her hands. “I _am_ right, aren’t I?” she casts over her shoulder just to be sure as she shakes the gloves free of dirt.

Jane scuffs her slipper against the silvery-gray floorboards. “Yeah.”

“So is she your One then? You’re going to tell her?”

Luisa doesn’t know which rules independent witches stick to, if any, but within the Villanueva _brujería_ , witches are only allowed to tell _one_ non-witch person their secret. That Jane is going to give an inherently magic gift to her girlfriend speaks volumes.

She wasted hers on her brother, Rafael—the biggest mistake she has ever made, but there are rarely do-overs when magic is involved. This is just the way things will have to be.

“I am! I want to ask her to marry me, but I can’t do that before she knows. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Luisa beams a smile at a girl who is closer to family than Rafael and Emilio has ever been. “You know how these work, right?” She lifts a bell jar made of warped dragon glass and eases her fingers forward until they bump into the stem of an Invisible Flower. Clutching it delicately between two digits, she eases it away from its brethren, then puts the bell jar back down.

Beneath the counter she has all sorts of trinkets, casings, bags and packets. She fishes out a wooden box with velvet lining and places the flower into it. The latch closes by itself.

So many items that started out mundane have been lying around here so long that the magic of the place has infused it by now, and they have taken on semi-sentience; Luisa would spend some time examining them, but she already has so little time to spare.

“And go to Amy’s blog when you’ve done the coloring spell. She has a really detailed list of explanations for these new patterns that have been cropping up lately...” Luisa shakes her head with a small crease between her brows; as the most skilled herbalist of East Harlem, people have been coming to her with their questions, but she doesn’t understand this newest mutation in Invisible Flowers at all yet. Somehow, Amy has beaten her to it.

“I read her blog every day! She made these... graphic representations of spells. They have made my life so much easier teaching Mateo. Mom and Abuela still refuse to help me.” Jane smiles, while stroking her fingers softly over the top of the box. “Did Lina tell you she met her? Apparently she’s not as intimidating at all in person.”

“I’m sure the damn tree will tell me all about it. Hey, didn’t Lina have that exorcism this morning?”

“Oh! Yeah, she was supposed to, but apparently Harley made peace with having a demon shadow stuck to her soul. Says she has never performed better magic.”

They keep up their conversation easily while Luisa cuts and grates and sifts and weighs herbs, flowers, and plants — all non-sentient, thank God — to top off Jane’s set of basic ingredients. When everything is wrapped-up and bagged, Lina finally graces them with her presence.

“Where’s _Rooooose_?” she sing-songs, eyes holding that glint of pleasure she always gets when she has managed to get juicy gossip out of the Fairy Fruit Tree that Luisa expressly forbade it to share. “She’s been here every night?”

Jane looks at Luisa accusingly—their circle of witches doesn’t take too kindly to _gringas_. Luisa knows this... she just chooses to ignore it. Rose, for all that she is a different sort of witch than they, is fascinating. And really fucking beautiful.

“Don’t start with me, Jane. You spend almost all your time with a bland _human_ and a tiny gremlin warlock that you _birthed_.”

Lina shrieks and almost knocks over a vase of bead necklaces in her hurry to lean over the counter. “Are you saying you’re _dating_ Rose now?”

Luisa rolls her eyes and blows a tiny braid out of her face with as much attitude as she can. “We aren’t dating, jeez. Rose is just a good friend.”

 _Speak of the devil_. It is whispered into her head, by the small raccoon charm carved from witch wood that dangles against her throat. And indeed, Rose appears in the door frame. The bell chimes its special jingle for her, a sound that always makes Luisa’s heart lurch.

A moment later Rose steps through the lianas that dangle at the mouth of the aisle on the right, parting the curtain that shimmers like falling jewels so she can start perusing the types of ingredients that lend themselves more to... darker arts.

That’s another reason her _brujería_ doesn’t particularly like Rose, but that makes Luisa find her even more appealing. That wild daring could be the end of her one day, but at least she’ll have lived first.

She gets Jane and Lina shooed away with a bag of her best dream tea leaves and a necklace enchanted to offer sunshine on a rainy day, so that when Rose gets to her counter, she is blissfully available to help.

“Did you send your friends away for me?” Rose’s smile is magical all by itself. Luisa refuses to believe otherwise. “You are too good to me, Lu.”

Most of the witches Luisa knows, herself included, have a penchant for wearing floral-patterned dresses and robes. But not Rose. She wears dark jeans and blouses that can be unbuttoned to show more cleavage. Her sleeves are rolled up, so that all the world can see the intricate web of tattoos running up from her wrists and disappearing at last beneath the fabric.

Luisa spent an afternoon tracing the ones on Rose’s left arm once, as part of a spell. Ever since, looking at them brings warmth to her chest.

Today, her wrists are adorned with simple bracelets woven from unicorn hair that sometimes look silver, then sparkle with all the colors of a rainbow. Those, Luisa knows, are to keep evil spirits locked up inside. The summoning must have either gone terribly wrong or terribly right.

“I’ll take it Katie’s apartment is no longer haunted, then?” She nods at the bracelets.

Rose chuckles. “I need your help. It’s taking a nap inside my chest. I’d like to get it out.”

She hoists a heavy book onto her counter. It’s thick, bound in dark leather that smells of a different place and a different time, though there is no wear or tear to show for it. Luisa spins it to face towards her, then gently pries the straps open to lift the cover.

“You’re not sending it back?”

Rose pulls a stool from where she knows Luisa keeps it hidden and seats herself on the other side of the counter. “I was thinking of trapping it in a pendant. I have several parties interested, but the magic... It’s far too advanced for me. The brewing part requires...” She tips her head up from the inked illustration on the first page to look at Luisa. “...y _ou_. I don’t know anyone that could undertake something like this but you.”

There is a bookmark almost halfway through the book. Luisa leafs to it and purses her lips together. Yes, she can see the intricacies and complexities of this. Not even her _brujería_ would ever undertake something like this, for no money in the world. But Luisa...

There is so much pride in running a tidy business, but even more pride in knowing she’s the best at _this_.

“Come back tonight. The pendant will be finished by then.”

Rose lifts one of Luisa’s hands up and presses a kiss to the center of her palm. “You’re a gem, Luisa Alver.”

 _Your pride will be the end of you one day_ , that same velvety whisper rustles through her mind as soon as Rose leaves.

Luisa sighs. “And if not that, my feelings for her will.”

* * *

Luisa sits cross-legged on the floor of one of her greenhouses. There’s a kettle in front of her, bubbling away happily. The book Rose left in her care lies open next to her on the long and detailed list of ingredients.

She cracks her fingers, wrists, neck and shoulders. Then she taps three times against the witch wood charm on her throat and pulls it off the necklace. As soon as it gives, the charm grows warm and fuzzy against her palm, then grows into a life-sized raccoon.

“I need you to get me all this, Dezh.” Luisa taps just once against the list on the opened page. Beady, intelligent eyes look at her briefly, then bend to the task at hand. In this shape and out of contact, Dezh can’t talk to her. That’s a small blessing, because she knows her familiar doesn’t particularly enjoy being utilized as little more than a servant.

She does so swiftly and precisely though, carrying quantities of magical flora in her paws or held in her mouth. Luisa doesn’t even check to make sure all is as should be; Dezh has never failed her before, the trust runs deep.

And the brewing is so complicated it needs her constant attention. Sweat beads at her hairline. She has hastily bound all her braids up, but they still brush distractingly against the back of her neck. She cracks her fingers once more.

Every ingredient added to the potion in the kettle changes its color, smell, sound, and texture. The spells lined between the recipe are to keep the concoction from blowing up at three different times, once to keep it from growing so exponentially it could eat a hole into New York, and no less than seven times to adjust the temperature a single Fahrenheit.

Brewing, most of all types of magic, is an exact science.

“You’re almost out of Swan Lilies,” Dezh tells her by putting a paw on her bare knee, but that’s all the conversation they have until she finishes the brewing and is left, after all the ingredients poured into it, with a moldable, gooey substance only as long and thick as her thumb.

It is enough to blow into a pendant like glass-blowing, through a process of hand-gestured spell work so intense and minute that it leaves her with burns all over her palms when she’s finally done.

She falls backward, onto a padding of dirt and leaves, and takes a big breath.

“Rose better gets me laid one of these days for all that I do for her.”

Dezh jumps onto her chest, goes back to dangling on the leather cord around her neck like a charm, and tells Luisa just what she thinks of this all.

* * *

The exorcism-and-channeling takes place at Rose’s apartment. It isn’t, by far, the first time Luisa has been there. They’ve done a plethora of spells together already, none of which have ever been pre-faced by or ended with a date, but she has hope. There’s been a few kisses, of which at least one _wasn’t_ part of a spell. These feelings could not possibly be unrequited; Luisa is pretty sure of this.

A little sure.

Luisa’s living quarters are squished between two greenhouses, made of the same silvery-gray wood that houses the shop, because that planking is a great sponge for magic and keeps her hammock incredibly steady. By comparison, Rose’s place feels like a palace, made up entirely of oiled hardwoods and gleaming bronze, with so many shelves of books the sheer amount of knowledge is staggering.

“I’d like to keep that book a little while, if that’s okay with you,” Luisa says as she puts the pendant between them on the table, in a circle of ground dragon tooth, with thirteen burning candles set around it. The rarity of the required ingredients alone is going to drive the price of this finished pendant up into the thousands of dollars. And just this morning, Luisa was proud that she would be able to get half a grand for the venom drops.

“I could part with it for a little while, sure.” Rose tosses her hair back behind her shoulders and stretches her arms across the table, to take Luisa’s bandaged hands into her own. “But in return, you should let me make you dinner sometime.”

 _See! I knew it,_ Luisa shouts at her familiar, while on the outside only a beaming grin shows. “Dinner without any hexing or cursing might be boring though.”

“With you there? I doubt it.”

They grow quiet, focused. The air between them hums and churns and vibrates with the magic they’re channeling wordlessly. Luisa draws up all the magic she has to help fortify the dragon dust circle so that once they exorcise the spirit from within Rose, it will have nowhere to go but the pendant. Those are all really the easy parts; all the hard work, Luisa has done already.

The exorcism chant was practically the first words she ever spoke, she knows it that well. Rose speaks it _even more_ fluidly. Or rather, she speaks with the inflections of the old tongue, a skill that is rare for the amount of intense study it requires.

This spirit stands no fucking chance between the two of them.

The pendant glows dark red for a moment, then the color bleeds away into darkness as the candles gutter out. Luisa grins. “There we go. One evil necklace coming right up.”

Rose takes every precaution against the pendant breaking before she can sell it, by wrapping it in cloth first, velvet second, and encasing it in an unbreakable dragon glass bauble after. Then she puts it in her vault, hidden behind the most unassuming bits of her book collection; the mundane fiction novels.

Then she clears everything away from the table, leaving behind only a deck of cards and a single candle.

“A game of Witch Creights before you go?”

“My magic needs recharging.” Luisa smirks. “But I’m sure I’ll still beat you with my eyes closed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
